


The Closet Romantics

by CrimesOfADeadpool



Series: Ask-Spiderpool Fanfics [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Poetry, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed, references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimesOfADeadpool/pseuds/CrimesOfADeadpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little fic about Wade, Peter, poetry and snuggling set in the ask-spiderpool!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Closet Romantics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciderman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciderman/gifts).



> Based off [this post ](ask-spiderpool.tumblr.com/post/89191118331) by ask-spiderpool.tumblr.com. I'm going to assume you've all read Sci's work cos like it's one of the most fundamental fanworks of the spideypool fandom.
> 
> So this is set like really, _really_ early in ask-spiderpool, like within a few weeks of Wade moving in with Peter.

Peter was beginning to regret everything.  
In particular, he was regretting _Wade._  
Why had he convinced himself that Wade would stay on the couch? Why hadn’t he _expected_ this?  
“I need to get some locks fitted,” he told the roof. The only reason he hadn’t thrown Wade out yet was a complete and utter exhaustion, and a fear that arguing with Wade might waste the few precious hours of sleep he had.  
Wade shifted against him, opening one eye. “Think I can’t get through a few measly locks?”  
“Hey,” Peter protested. “I could get great locks.”  
Wade snorted. “You can’t even pay rent.”  
Peter flushed and pushed the clinging form off him and onto the floor.  
Wade looked up at him, his mask scrunched up in confusion. “ _Rude,”_ he said in a wounded tone.  
Peter glared at him.  
“You know you’re sleeping in your mask, right baby boy?” Wade asked him. “If you’re giving me lovey-dovey eyes, I can’t tell.”  
Peter’s hand jerked to his face and he groaned, tugging off the mask and throwing it aside before collapsing back on the bed. “I was glaring at you,” he said finally.  
Wade crawled back on the bed. “I figured. You’re always glaring.”  
Peter gave him an annoyed look. “Says the guy who crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.”  
“The couch was too uncomfortable,” Wade complained as he pulled the blanket over himself. “ _But_ it was more comfortable than the floor. I know because I tried sleeping on the floor, thinking it must be more comfortable than the couch.”  
Peter’s eyebrow twitched as he tried to force his tired brain to start working again. “Family Guy?”  
Wade nodded, cautiously edging closer towards Peter in the bed.  
Peter closed his eyes. “No quoting after 3am.”  
“It is a truth universally acknowledged-” Wade began dutifully.  
“Are you quoting Pride and Prejudice?”  
“I knew you’d recognise it!” Wade said triumphantly, wrapping his arms back around Peter’s waist. “You closet romantic you.”  
“I have a high school education, everyone knows that line.”  
Wade pouted against Peter’s side. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”  
“I-” Peter tried, immediately feeling guilty. “I didn’t mean it like that.”  
Wade snorted. “I know baby boy.” A beat. “I also know you’re a closet romantic. Quote me poetry sweetheart.”  
“Heard the one about Oyster Boy?” It slipped out of his mouth before he thought it through.  
The bed shifted and Peter opened his eyes to see Wade gleefully hovering over him. “You _do_ know poetry.”  
“Tim Burton,” Peter protested in his own defence. “And the Oyster Boy gets eater by his father as an aphrodisiac.”  
Wade somehow seemed even happier, amazing considering his mask was covering his whole face. “I ask you to quote me romantic poetry and your first thought was _sex?”_ he purred. “Oh Peter you don’t need poetry to get _that.”_  
Peter pushed him away, and Wade slipped back on the bed next to him, snuggling against him.  
“It was either that or ‘Two Dead Boys in the Middle of the Night.’”  
“Two Dead Boys in the Middle of the Night?”  
Peter shrugged in Wade’s grip. “Something like that.”  
“What were those boys _doing_ Peter? Considering how kinky your first poem was-”  
Peter groaned and reached out for his phone. “I’ll google it,” he said to shut him up.  
“You’re going to read me poetry?” Wade squeaked happily as Peter typed it into the search bar.  
Peter shot him a look.  
“ _One bright morning in the middle of the night_ ,” he began reading off the page. “ _Two dead boys got up to fight. Back-to-back they faced one another, drew their swords and shot each other. One was blind and the other couldn't see, so they chose a dummy for a referee. A blind man went to see fair play, a dumb man went to shout "hooray!" A deaf policeman heard the noise, and came and killed those two dead boys. A paralyzed donkey walking by, kicked the copper in the eye, sent him through a rubber wall, into a dry ditch and drowned them all. If you don't believe this lie is true, ask the blind man -- he saw it too!”_  
Wade listened in silence, then dropped his chin against Peter’s hip. “That’s not very sexy Peter.”  
Peter put his phone back on his bedside table and lay down. “It’s not supposed to be. It’s a nonsense poem.”  
“Ooh, and you thought of me, how sweet.”  
“I just like the poem,” Peter grumbled.  
“Sure you did,” Wade said. “Dead boys, swords, guns, fighting. It suits me perfectly. You pay more attention to me than I thought.”  
Peter pulled a pillow over his own head. “Why don’t I kick you out?” he lamented.  
Wade rested his head on Peter chest. “You love it.”  
There was a silence and Peter began to think he might actually be able to get some sleep that night, when-  
“My turn!”  
Peter lowered the pillow. “For what?”  
“Poetry!”  
“No.”  
“But it’s only fair! I listened to you talk about mornings in night and lies being true!”  
Peter sighed. “Something short.”  
“ _My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun!”_ Wade crowed grandly.  
Peter groaned.  
_“Coral is far more red than her lips' red!”_ Wade continued in the same voice _. “If snow be white, why then her breasts… are dun. If hairs be wires…black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks. And in some perfumes is there more delight, than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, that music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go. My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare,”_ he paused for effect _. “As any she belied with false compare.”_  
Peter blinked at him. “Okay I give, how do you know that?”  
“Everyone should know Shakespeare, Petey.”  
“And how did _you_ know it?”  
“The Catherine Tate Show Comic Relief crossover with Doctor Who.”  
“Ah,” Peter said. “Anything else you’d like to add before I pass out?”  
“What no comments about my poem Peter? I talked about yours.”  
“You told me it wasn’t sexy enough for you.”  
“It wasn’t,” Wade confirmed.  
Peter opened his mouth and shut it. “It was nice,” he admitted.  
“High praise from the spider. Poor Shakespeare.”  
“Can I sleep now?”  
Wade sighed. “No appreciation of the classics.”  
Peter rolled his eyes and then put the pillow behind his head. “Night Wade.”  
“Night Peter.”  
  
Peter drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, trying to escape the feeling he’d forgotten something. Then it hit him.  
“This doesn’t mean this is going to be a regular thing,” Peter told Wade.  
Wade let out an exaggerated snore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear the other two fics will be better than this one.  
> I was gonna format the poems formally, like you know a line break where a line break is supposed to be, but then I thought screw it. The poem Wade reads is Sonnet 130 by Shakespeare, and I have no idea what Peter's poem is called and I'm pretty sure it's by an anonymous. They're two of my favourite poems. (Tbh I didn't even think about the relationship between the two dead boys and Wade until after I'd made Peter quote it, I just _really_ love the poem)


End file.
